Christmas Spirit
by SerpentSign
Summary: When Aisha left Roger, he spends Christmas Eve at the GID headquarters and Hani lends a helping hand. Some introspect, some smut and some cigar porn et voilá!


Title: Christmas spirit ( Ghost of Christmas Smex)

Author: Serpentsign

Fandom: Body of lies (it's so small it's not even a fandom I guess ;P)  
Pairing: Hani Salaam/Roger Ferris  
Rating: R/NC-17? I don't know, okay! ;_;

Verse: Post-film and post-Ferris/Aisha, Roger is employed as a consultant/whatever at the Jordanian GID.  
Summary: Roger is alone after Aisha left him, and spends Christmas Eve together with Hani at the GID headquarters. All because of the Christmas tree, or so he thinks…  
Word Count: 2591  
Spoilers: I'm just going to assume that you've seen the film or read the book, since you're here, eh? Oh, watch the deleted scenes from the film on youtube for an explanation of the candy cane ^^  
Disclaimer: Do not own, blah blah blah etc etc.

A/N: This fic took me far too long to write (mainly because I'm lazy), so long in fact that I feared it might be posted at the holiday that it's meant to be set in. Also, even though I wrote the word about 25 million times in this fic, I still can't spell the word "Christmas" properly, thank God for spell check and Linndechir (on LJ).

Christmas spirit

"There's a Christmas tree on my desk, Hani-Pasha." Hani didn't even try to hide the amused expression in his eyes as he looked up from the papers in front of him. Even sitting down doing regular paper work, Hani Salaam, head of the Jordanian General Intelligence Department, made an impression on anyone that stood in front of him. The dark wooden panels in the room and the faint smell of cigar smoke created an air of dignified luxury around Hani. He was impeccably dressed as always; today in a single-buttoned black suit and a white cashmere turtle neck, the obligatory candy cane-pin secured to one of the lapels.

"It's only a small one, Mr Ferris." He smiled.

"I noticed that the front desk in the lobby has one, too. The man at the desk didn't look to happy about it." Even though Christmas was widely accepted in Jordan and Hani's candy cane-pin was never frowned upon, Roger highly doubted that it was customary to decorate the Intelligence Headquarters with Christmas trees. Hani merely nodded and motioned for him to take a seat.

"It's not that he doesn't like the Christmas tree, it's just that he lacks..._Christmas spirit_, he fixed his dark stare on Roger intently, "and so do you, my dear. Otherwise you'd not be here on this evening that according to tradition should be spent with family and loved ones."

The words were light, but the sheer truth in them hit the intended target with extreme precision. He was alone here in Amman; no family and since Aisha had left him he didn't have any loved ones either. Lies and secrets didn't make a good foundation for a relationship; he couldn't tell her anything out of fear of her ever getting involved in this misery business again. All he had now, he realized, was Hani and their tentative friendship. Looking out the window to his right Roger saw the unbearably hot sun sink ever so slowly; casting rays of dying sunlight into the room, deep golds and reds reflected in the polished wood, and Hani's face was shimmering.

"You are here, too, Hani." He reminded and pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly.

"´A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do.` No?" Hani did a small movement with his hand and arched an eyebrow to accentuate the quote, an expression of mild humour sweeping across his face. And that's what it all came down to, wasn't it? They were both here in this room because they had to, it was their job. Somewhere, in a very secluded part of his brain, Roger knew that he'd made the choices that had led to his and Aisha's break-up, not because he wanted to, but because he had to.

"Yeah, right, whatever." Roger flinched internally at the Hoffman-esque expression. Aisha had told him that a man wasn't his job, that he was "apart from it". But Roger had found that when he quit the agency, quit Hoffman and his surveillance cameras, there was nothing left of him. He just wanted to live, really live, but he had a feeling that even his first wife had noticed that there was nothing in him besides the agent. Had Aisha been just as much a part of his job as the rest of his life? Roger vaguely wondered if Hani's wife and kids were a part of his job as well; a man of his age and status couldn't possibly be unmarried.

Roger rose to leave, he'd had enough of teasing and words that meant nothing but still everything for one day. He could feel Hani's eyes on his back as he walked to the door. When he'd grabbed the handle, he heard the scraping of a chair and Hani's footsteps. Roger turned around, with one hand still resting on the door handle, and saw the Jordanian stretch out a hand and pull out a cigar from a case on the far side of the desk. Then, with deliberately slow movements, Hani leaned back against the desk and cut off the end of the cigar.

What then followed could, according to Roger, only be described as the most provocative lightning of a cigar in the history of mankind. With his eyes still firmly gazing into Roger's Hani languidly stroked, no, caressed the length of the cigar with long slender fingers before actually lighting it. He brought the cigar to his lips and sucked, lips shaped into a sinful pout and cheeks hollowed in a way that made Roger squirm uncomfortably as he stood by the door, clenching the door handle with now sweaty hands.

"You know, Mr Ferris, even in this savage part of the world it's considered rude to stare at people." Hani's smooth voice brought him out of the stupor and he quickly moved his gaze away from the man's lips to his eyes, cheeks heated.

"I- Hani-Pasha, I-" Roger cursed his tongue as he began spluttering an explanation.

"Would you mind locking the door, my dear?" Hani let out another puff of smoke, arched an eyebrow and gave a slight nod towards the lock, commanding him into submission. The sudden click of the lock made Roger aware of the fact that he had indeed locked the door, and he stared wide-eyed at his traitorous hand. Hani just smiled knowingly and white smoke slithered from his lips like a thin silk ribbon. As if in a daze Roger felt himself move across the room to stand in in front of the other man, probably looking like a love-sick puppy, a part of him thought wryly.

Hani stepped away from the desk, towered before Roger and leaned in with a look of interest, as if he was only examining the shade of Roger's irises. Roger leaned in – closer and closer until they were mere centimetres from touching, and then Hani drew back. He turned back to the desk, leaving a profusely blushing Roger behind him, and put the cigar on an ash tray. He discarded the jacket and draped it carefully across the back of a nearby armchair, every move swift and fluid as compared to the slow tantalizing movements before.

Facing Roger again, Hani raised his hand and made a pointing gesture at his chest. The gesture was oddly familiar - Hani had made it as well when Roger had confessed his side operation him, so Roger half expected harsh words and a plane ticket to the States. But the angry words didn't come, instead Hani put the finger against Roger's chest and pushed - forcing Roger to take a step backwards and sit down in the chair he had left earlier. Wedging a knee between Roger's legs and putting his hands firmly on the backrest on both sides of Roger's head, Hani effectively blocked every chance of escape.

There was a challenge in Hani's eyes, daring Roger to run away. The dark irises were black pools; warm, inviting and ready to swallow you whole if you weren't careful. Roger didn't move a muscle.

Hani's hands let go of the backrest and travelled down the sides of Roger's face, the fingertips barely touching his skin and lips. Then Hani's right hand grasped his jaw ever so gently, leaving the thumb to rest on Roger's lower lip, while the other continued to slid down his neck and chest, undoing buttons as it went. Hani's left hand skittered across the skin just above the buckle of Roger's belt, making the muscles there spasm while the right thumb gently massaged Roger's lower lip. Roger felt his tongue twitch inside his mouth and the want to flick it across Hani's fingers.

'_Breathe. Breathe, Goddammit!__' _Roger thought_. _And he did, even though the air came out in short bursts which were more like open-mouthed, breathless gasps than actual breathing. It was embarrassing, really. _'__Are you going to just sit there? Do something. Do anything!__'_ He forced his fingers to let go of the armrest and, shaking, he let them slide down the clothed chest until he found the hem of the turtleneck, instantly diving underneath to feel warm skin against his finger tips. All the while Hani's fingers continued to dance across his stomach and lips.

As Roger began to remove the turtleneck, pulling it upwards with a tug, he heard the snapping of threads and instantly felt Hani's fingers leave his mouth. Hani gave him a stern look and took a step backwards to remove the turtleneck himself, carefully folding and laying it on same armchair as the jacket. Roger let out a deep breath and his head lolled back onto the backrest. Trust Hani to be excessively picky about his clothes, even in this situation. But at this distance and without a shirt Hani presented one fine view, dark skin glowing in the last light of the sun, the only imperfection seemed to be a thin scar running along his left shoulder blade. He was also a lot lither than the fancy suits made him out to be. This made Roger feel just a little bit better about himself; he couldn't pull either rank or height on Hani, but he sure had the muscle on his side. This didn't faze Hani the least, the way he carried himself didn't falter even though he had lost a part of his patina.

"Come here, my dear," he nothing short of ordered and for all his muscles, Roger couldn't refuse. He tried instead to keep any sort of dignity as he walked up to the other man and hoped he wasn't swaying, seeing as all his blood seemed to have relocated from his legs to a certain other part of his body.

As it turned out he didn't have to keep himself up for long; Hani grabbed a hold of the open shirt and dragged him into a searing kiss that had Roger grappling for something to hold onto. He was backed up against the desk until he was sitting on it and Hani pushed the open shirt past Roger's shoulders and off, lips not leaving Roger's for a second. Roger prevented any sort of folding or careful handling by simply grabbing the shirt from Hani and carelessly throwing it across the room, where it draped itself over a roman bust. He sent a defiant look towards Hani, who kept any disapproval to himself in favour of roaming his hands across Rogers chest, gently brushing over nipples as he went.

Any inhibitions he might have had before were long gone and Roger led Hani's left hand to his lips, placing a kiss on each of the fingertips before sliding two of them into his mouth. As Roger eagerly lapped and sucked on the slim fingers Hani's free hand encircled Roger's waist and pressed them closer together, rolling his hips so that groins grinded together through the fabric of their trousers. Roger groaned and his mouth immediately left Hani's fingers to press against his throat.

"We, ah- we need- something to-" he gasped into Hani's neck, desperately trying to convey the message, and Hani responded by simply pushing Roger into a lying position on the desk and leaned over him. "Hani, we-" He was silenced by still moist fingers on his lips.

"I heard you the first time, Mr Ferris." And Roger noticed the hand that was not keeping him silent had indeed disappeared into one of the drawers, producing small packages. He was about to ask why on earth the Head of Jordanian Intelligence kept lube and condoms in his office, but the fingers that rested on his lips kept him silent still. Roger really didn't even want to linger too long on the possibility of Hani planning this, but there really was no other explanation…unless Hani really was prepared for literally every situation.

Hani's hands slid down to the waistbands of their trousers and two quick zips and a few pulls later he kissed his way down Roger's chest and took him into his mouth. For a minute Roger could feel nothing but pleasure, pulsating and fluctuating, blocking everything else out. He never heard the plastic sound of a condom being put on and he was only vaguely aware of Hani's fingers moving inside him, preparing him. But he certainly heard himself growl to Hani just to fuck him already and the gentle response of, "As you wish, my dear."

There was pain, then. Pain and pleasure all meshed up like no opposites should ever be. Roger's lips brushed open-mouthed kisses against Hani's smooth chest and he dug his fingers into his shoulders, panting in helpless abandon against Hani's neck.

It didn't last long; Roger was too much in desperate need of any sort of release to make it last, and Hani was all too happy to meet that need. They ended up tangled together on the desk, and while Hani somehow pulled off being graceful while slumped on top of Roger, Roger himself felt boneless, hazy even, dark spots fleeting before his vision. From Hani's lips whispers of Arabic floated, breath brushing soothingly against Roger's neck. More black spots now.

He blinked.

Hani was standing up, straightening his trousers, a small sheen of sweat glistering on his naked chest and back.

He blinked.

Hani was standing by his side, paper towels in his hand, carefully wiping Roger's stomach clean.

He blinked.

Hani was retrieving Roger's shirt and straightening the Roman bust just a fraction.

Roger blinked. Twice. And he rose.

There were no uncomfortable silences with Hani, who could make everything seem casual if he only wanted to. There were no downcast eyes and guilty looks towards the door, only long looks that confirmed the necessity of what had taken place. They had done it because they had to. It was just that simple. They stood together for a while, looking at their reflections in the window. Outside, Amman was at last completely veiled by the night and the light from streetlamps and windows were tiny flecks of gold in the darkness.

"God, look at us…Two middle-aged men, alone, working on Christmas Eve, how's that for a life?" Roger smiled wryly and watched from the corner of his eye as Hani relit the cigar from before.

"I think," Hani began and breathed out a cloud of smoke, gazing thoughtfully out of the window, "one could image worse places to be, no?" He turned his head and looked at Roger with a small smile on his lips. Roger leaned in and very carefully took the cigar from Hani's fingers, took a drag and let the smoke fill his lungs, his gaze never leaving Hani's. Hani looked mildly surprised at first, never had anyone stolen his cigar before, but then smiled amusedly and took the cigar back as Roger offered it. Another relaxed silence stretched out between them, and Roger needed only one final suspicion verified.

"You planned this," Roger gestured between them," all along, didn't you." It wasn't a question, more of a statement in need of confirmation. And Hani just smiled that infernal smile. _Of course you did, you sly, scheming bastard_, Roger thought but couldn't really bring himself to be angry with the other man.

When Roger was about to close the door behind himself as he was leaving, he stuck his head back into the room.

"I still want that Christmas tree gone, Hani-Pasha." With that he closed the door firmly and all the way through the corridor the sound of Hani's laugher followed him.


End file.
